


Ain't That a Kick in the Head

by warmommy



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: F/M, it's smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 14:17:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19395874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmommy/pseuds/warmommy
Summary: “George, I swear I’ll start without you if you don’t hurry up.”





	Ain't That a Kick in the Head

All the way down to your navel, George Luz traced his fingertips, eyes following. When he was still at school, he was in the marching band, and the way the bass drum seemed to vibrate inside his chest was what his heart felt like now. He kissed your bare shoulder again, and this was a mistake, it had to be, and it couldn’t be okay to let you make this sort of mistake with someone like him.

Again, he tried to warn you.

You smiled in the dim light and smoothed down an unruly lock of his hair. “I don’t want to be doing this with anyone else.”

George smiled at you, too, smiled brighter than the moonlight coming from the tiny window that seemed oddly-placed. It was by that moonlight and a lit candle nearby that he could actually see you, naked from the waist up, and he would be making no more arguments. So what if he didn’t look like…some of the other guys? He looked like George, and that, apparently, was good enough for you.

He moved his thumb over your bellybutton again, looking in your eyes. His fingers worked carefully, slowly with the buttons of your trousers, fumbling with them several times before they all gave way. The tips of his ears turned red and he finally got the push he needed just to do it, to just lean in and ghost his lips over your nipple. He tried his best to make it seem as though he had any finesse or nuance, but really he was flying almost literally by the seat of his pants.

“Stop worrying.” 

Just like that, you’d rescued him like you always did. Always there to save his ass. George leaned up again to smile down at you and winked. He touched the fly of his trousers. “Is it all right if I…?” 

“Stop worrying,” you said again, hands assisting his. Your heart was beating just as fast, just as loud a rush in your own ears.

“I won’t worry,” he said, and it became far harder to do so when he kissed you again. The heat traveled down his spine, and he could feel it in his _fingertips_. 

Then it was everywhere. Quilts and trousers got kicked down to the foot of the bed, tangling together in a place where they could cool and be forgotten a while. His teeth accidentally scraped over your bottom lip, and your heel got curiously hung on his ankle for a half second.

You laughed together, each without anticipating it, neither experiencing a moment of hesitation or dread because of it. He kissed you again and felt the ridges along the edge of the condom wrapper, his nail grazing over it before he _finally_ found the spot where it tore open. For a flash of a moment, he thought to himself those breathy chuckles would be the best part of the night.

Perhaps a close second. He would appreciate it even more, later, but _now_ he had the damn thing on, and all he could feel was warmth, all over again. The way it collected in your eyes when you looked at him, how your palms felt against his shoulder blades, your lips, your thighs…

He wanted to touch you first, because he’d never really done that, before. It was just a whim, just a tiny flick of his fingers, but _God_ was he glad he was looking at your face when he did. You gave the slightest jump and your features reflected a sense of urgency, a sense of _need_ , now, not simple _want._

 _“_ Do both,” you whispered, trying to kiss him again. “George, I swear I’ll start without you if you don’t hurry up.” 

He rubbed the head of his cock in the same place to see you make that face again, because it was the most beautiful, sexiest sight there could ever be. His own sexual imagination could never summon up something so pure, so electric. No woman he’d ever been with had ever looked like that, or made him feel like this. 

The longest and shortest seconds of his life came with the gentle push inside of you, or, at least, he tried to keep it as gentle as he could. For once, his heart was slamming inside his chest for a reason other than fear, there was no weight on his back, no bursts of loud noise, just this. Just this, just this.

He swallowed when he remembered he was supposed to breathe. 

George almost laughed again–not because there was anything at all funny, he was just _happy._ He, George Luz, was the one driving you crazy. He’d had sex before, but not like this. He didn’t doubt his own coordination as he normally would have; he remembered you’d said to touch you at the same time, and he’d _loved_ doing it, so his fingers were eager to find the same place again. He figured out how to time it, too, how to make little circles, and when you started to make more sound, he could’ve laughed again.

Happy didn’t cut it. This was joy, pure heaven. 

Then you said his _name_. Not Luz, George, and the _way_ you said it…

Too much, too much, too much, far too much, but not nearly enough.

You were teaching him the duplicitous face of sex, the dichotomy that split the mind and created something powerful and brilliant in each breath. He didn’t realise he was becoming something different. He didn’t even realise how that his demonstrated efforts were all for you, but that was what he cared about, what he reacted to most. All of his energy, all of his focus, all centred around a moment he hadn’t even seen coming. 

He couldn’t have anticipated anything that good would ever happen to him, and it was passed by so damn quickly, too. He was no longer processing things like a film reel, just in the briefest impressions of still images, a camera for sensory input that included more than sight, but oh, if he could just capture the look in your eyes when you came, keep it forever…


End file.
